The 24 Hour Journey
A ship travels to its destination as planned via a set of track lines meticulously connected by penciling in lines on charts and any subsequent notations recorded on an accompanying voyage plan. No matter day or night, the ship continues its lumbering or seemingly drunken-like waltz as it pushes water and closes the gap between ports, hour-by-hour along these ever flowing highways we call the Ocean or Sea.
I grew up, during my teen years, traveling between waypoints, if you will, from Northern California bound for Southern California or back as I would visit one parent then turn back and return the other direction from which I just came from, traveling the desolate highways of Interstates 5 or 99 and for hours on end; each parent living in separate reaches of the Golden State
but linked by these earthly meridianal passages. And as the forms of travels between these two California regions changed from Airplane to Bus to Automobile as I matured, I was also daring enough to attempt the transit at the more “daunting” (my folks would call it), hours at night. During these hours, traffic dwindled to a more manageable level, and the car enjoyed the
luxury of cooler temperatures and steady speeds. Which is somewhat more fact than fiction, actually. But with this harmless bit of trivia which I advocated towards my folks, I was given the nod, eventually!
I had owned an early model Datsun two seater sports car when I turned sixteen and this was my freedom into the world of the unknown. As long as I had money for gas, my mindset was to venture to wherever and whenever (when monetarily feasible and when school was not in session, of course) to places within a day’s drive of where I was living. I learned how to read a map, and
notated the cities along my intended route, and used quick math to determine if I had enough hours in the day, to return before my mom or dad suspected anything wrong due to the hours spent. I made sure to leave a message in the form of a note saying when I would be back home- but not necessarily where my travels would send me. Of course, we’re not talking secret illegal
activity, but destinations or locations which would expand my quest for reaching unknown territories; for me any place I would consider a Shangri La.. I was more interested in driving and discovering a small town hidden among a grove of Walnut trees or a farming community with a historic Diner alongside a Main Street with nearly defunct five-and-dime store or other paltry businesses barely making it than to try stupid illicit drugs many youngsters my age would have rather done back at home. Boring!
As well, my likeness towards driving during the night time hours increased over the years, and consequently I now command big ships throughout portions of the night as we operate completely in the dark and within the safe confines of a large room full of dimly lighted panels and backlit buttons, which we call the Wheelhouse or Bridge. Just as we drive in a car at night,
with just the glow of the speedometer and ventilation controls and the rumble or hum of an engine, the ship’s Bridge consists of the ominous glow from its Radar sets, VHF radios, and Steering controls in various colors and intensities all while the feel is ever present and in some cases more pronounced than an automobile as the bridge pivots and contorts as it
imitates what the rest of the ship is doing.
And peering out into the vastness, only the stars respond as small pin points of lights or a distant ship with its dual white lighted Range Lights and Blue and Green Running lights, indicating its aspect giving any sign that something lurks out there! But the “point” of it all, I enjoy the tranquility that the night brings. It’s just me and the water with a horizon as a sharp line separating the sea and sky. The mind clears itself, as I prepare for the new day to come. The day reflected as I have time to think and ponder what I could do different to make it better.
A twenty-four hour day passes and a new day arrives! Carpe Diem!
Have a great day, folks!
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